


084 - Van Cannot Use Technology

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 04:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “Have you seen how Van always puts the hashtag at the instead of the start 😅  Maybe you could do a story about teaching him how to use technology?”





	084 - Van Cannot Use Technology

"You can't make tweets about Larry sleeping with girls," your boss said directly to Van.

"To be fair, mate, that was when I was a kid. I said sorry and everythin'," he replied, his voice defensive but his expression amused. 

"You weren't a kid when you started a fight with that lad from One Direction,"

"Mmmm... I would argue that he is still a child," Van's manager said, probably not helping the situation. 

"I didn't start a fight! What you on about?"

Your boss rubbed his fingers to his temples, frustrated and feeling Van was just exacerbating the situation. Van spun back and forth on the chair. He glanced at you and you tried to hold your face still. Catfish's management had been pulled in by the label for a meeting. They were big enough now that their online presence needed to be monitored; hence, you were assigned to them. As a social media rep you essentially managed Instagrams, Twitters, and YouTube channels. Van seemed entertained that your job existed, but he was polite and shook your hand when he came into the room. He said it was nice to meet you, and he kept looking at the band shirt you were wearing trying to figure out if he recognised the print. 

"The point is that Y/N is in charge of that now. She'll run the band's social media, but you can keep your personal accounts. She will monitor those, though, and if she says delete something you have to. No arguments,"

"Do we have to delete our tour diaries?" Van asked. 

"Uh, no, actually. It might be the first time I've not had to get rid of a non-VEVO channel. I watched them all, and you are a surprisingly unproblematic lot," you replied. It was true. All the hours of footage, and nothing that could get them into trouble. 

The meeting adjourned, and you felt Van's eyes watch you leave the room. 

... 

Like they were spooked from the internet, none of them posted anything online for a month. The only exception was some activity on their private Facebooks and Benji's Snapchat stories. You continued to run their accounts and helped with the 'You and the Bottlemen' campaign. You weren't there for the meeting about that, but could feel Van's excitement through the minutes were taken, and phone conversations overheard. It was clear the boy wanted the fans to be as much part of the band as him. 

...

It was a Sunday morning when your phone rang. Your boss. "One of them has gotten onto the Twitter, used some backwards hashtags and started a fucking fight with some kid," he said after groaning out the band name. You said you'd deal with it, and got out bed. You moved to the small desk out in the living room. It was up against the biggest window in your tiny apartment. You opened the curtains; it was hardly even daytime yet. You sat down with a cup of tea and opened your laptop. 

You didn't know which of them it was, but you suspected Van. Someone had tweeted the band about a guy who was ripping their music off. There was a video of an 'original' song called Tycoons that was painfully similar to Tyrants. You scoffed at the lack of imagination. He should have at least tried a little harder with the renaming of the songs. At first whoever was logged into the account tweeted that they thought it was funny. 'I probably owe a few to all the lads ive ripped off in my time thestrokes#' You laughed out loud at the literal backwards hashtag. You thought your boss was joking. The tweets escalated the more similarities between Catfish and this kid emerged. The coherency, spelling, and grammar continually got worse too. The last tweet was out at 2am. You deleted all the tweets and forwarded the concerns onto legal. There was probably a case there if Catfish were genuinely still upset. 

You waited till around midday to call. Their manager didn't pick up, so you tried for Van. 

"Ello?" he picked up, and he sounded happy. 

"Hey, Van. It's Y/N from Communion. I'm the-"

"Yeah, yeah. The Twitter girl. Thought I'd be hearing from you," 

"So it was you?" 

Van paused and you could hear him cover the mouthpiece of his phone and speak to someone. The sound was muffled and you couldn't make out the words. "I am sorry," he said back on the phone, but the words were so fully formed and calculated. Whoever was there told him to apologise. 

"Um, okay. I deleted the tweets, and I let legal know about the kid. If you care about him then they can follow it up," 

"I don't really," 

"Okay. Well, you can tell them that when they get in touch. Can you, like, just not do this again? I had to get out of bed so early and it's Sunday, man," 

"I'm sorry," his voice was back to being genuine. "Let me make it up to you? Come over for Sunday roast dinner, yeah?" 

"What?"

"Larry and I are going to cook and my ma taught me how to make the best Yorkshires you'll ever eat, promise." 

You'd not met someone like Van before. He could snap between being professional and being a human puppy dog in an instant. He seemed to lack any sort of shame, which was admirable. He was authentic. None of that could change the fact that it was frowned upon for management to ‘socialise’ with the talent. Of course it happened. Most of management started in bands themselves, and there is a certain level of rebelliousness that is needed to work in the music industry anyway. However, you were young and still working to find your place at Communion. You didn't want to risk it, even if it was just an innocent invite to dinner. 

"That's sweet; really nice of you, but I can't. Thank you, though. I've got to go, so just remember to think before you tweet yeah?" You started the motion to move your phone away from your ear. Van responded quickly. 

"Wait! Could you come if it's for work?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well you're saying no because you're all professional and stuff, right? Like, don't want to mix with us non-professionals and all that?" 

"Van, I don't... It's just a bit..."

"Yeah, I get you, love. But it's for work, see. Need you to show me how to use hashtags right." 

You laughed. "Just move them-" 

"No, no. Need to see you do it. Don't learn without seeing it," 

"Van,"

"Y/N."

You didn't say yes, but you wrote his address down as he told it to you. He said you could come around 6, and not to bring anything. You could hear he fully expected you to be there, but you were unsure despite his faith. 

...

As you sat in the car for an extra minute out the front of Van's, you picked up the pumpkin pie you'd made earlier and looked at it. It had come out perfect. Maybe it was too much. Maybe you should not have come at all. You were happy with the decision to wear jeans and a plain black and white striped t-shirt, though. Casual. You were still staring at the pie when someone tapped on your window. You'd not him before, but you recognised Larry. He was looking at you with a smirk. He took a step back so you could get out of the car. 

"Hi," he said. 

"Hey, Larry, right?" you replied. He nodded and he smiled. He was carrying a shopping bag; he'd spotted you on his way back home. You forgot he and Van lived together. 

"Yep. You're Y/N. Are you coming in or do you want me to bring you a plate out here?" 

Inside the small cottage was warm and smelt good. The Doors were playing from somewhere. You followed Larry through to the kitchen, where Van was sitting cross-legged in front of the oven. He was peering through the glass, intently watching the food. He looked up when you walked it. His face broke out into a smile that made you happy you came. He stood up and walked to you. 

"Hi," 

"I knew you'd come," he replied. You held up the pie. "Told you not to bring anything," 

"My mum raised me better than that." 

He thanked you and put the pie in the fridge. You sat at the round kitchen table and let Van pour wine for you. Everything was cooking, almost ready. You laughed as you watched Van and Larry stare at the tray of roast potato. 

"Just ain't crispy like they should be," Van said. 

"Yeah. Don't know how you've managed to fuck this one up, mate," Larry replied. 

"Did you put them in an already hot oven, or was it cold when they went in," you asked. Van made a face of realisation, then nodded. They made the decision to turn it into mash. You questioned the decision internally, but wanted to see how they'd do it. Answer: Milk and blender. It turned to a thick paste and Larry refused to try it. Van ate a spoonful. 

"I kinda like it," he said and ate another spoonful. You stood up and took the spoon from him. You tried some and were revolted to discover you liked it too.

"Look, it's not mashed potato, but it's good regardless," 

"Mental. The both of ya," Larry said shaking his head. 

You sat down to eat and Van beamed when you confirmed that his Yorkshire puddings were at least in the top three you'd ever had. They were cooked perfectly; maybe at the expense of the potato but they were worth it. You mostly listened to them talk. Somehow they could both be speaking and listening at the same time. Additionally, they could do that and eat. You spent half the dinner snickering to yourself. You talked when you had something to say, and they'd listen. Van in particularly seemed entirely enthralled in your input. You liked how he smiled and nodded when he listened. 

After dinner you followed them out into the small backyard. You sat next to Van on an outdoor lounge. Larry sat on the overgrown grass. They lit cigarettes, and as they exhaled you watched the smoke trails snake up into the dusk sky. 

"You do know that the hashtag goes at the start, right?" 

"Yeah. Course I do. Just don't care," Van replied, grinning. "You can set up an Instagram for me though," 

You took his phone from his outstretched hand. You downloaded the app, and when you got to the stage of picking a username you asked him what he wanted. 

"Get ready for this," Larry said. 

"vanstagrammccannstagram," 

"Wow," you replied, "That is amazing. I am genuinely impressed," 

"Just kickin' goals with you tonight, aren't I?" 

You ignored the implication of the comment and smiled. You picked a picture for him, one taken at the Soundcheck music video shoot. He moved closer to you and rested his head on your shoulder to watch. You showed him how to follow people. He picked a few to start with and said he'd do more later; you suspected he'd not get around to it. You told him you'd get him the little blue tick of authenticity on Monday. Regardless of not having it yet, being followed by Larry was enough to have people start to follow him straight away. His followers count kept climbing into the thousands, and Van laughed at the attention. 

"Probably never going to post anything," he said. 

"Let's put up one of the You and the Bottlemen ones, yeah?" 

"Good idea. See. Needed you here," Van replied. Larry made a snorting sound from his place on the grass. 

"What do you want the caption to be?" You handed the phone back and watched him write in all capitals. He finished with a symbolic X. You asked if he wanted Snapchat, and you showed him yours. You played Benji's story and made him take some selfies with the filters. When the demonstration was over and he'd decided he liked the weird milk vomiting cow filter best, he shook his head. 

"Too much potential for trouble, that one is," Van said. Larry laughed. 

"Mmmm, you're probably right," you agreed. 

When it got completely dark you went back inside and cut up the pie for them. Larry made tea and you sat around the kitchen table again. When he was done, Larry ‘yawned’ and said he was going to bed. It was not even half past eleven. 

"I should probably go too," you said when Larry left. Van lit another cigarette. 

"Stay up with me for one more smoke. I'll make you more tea." 

You wrapped your palms around the mug when he put it on the table in front of you. He sat across from you, folded his arms on the table, then rested his head on them. You could see the bumps of his spine where his white button up pulled against him. Van looked at you. 

"I'm sorry I ruined your sleep in," he said. You smiled and shrugged. "Good craic though, yeah?" You contained a smile and looked at him expressionlessly. He laughed. Van reached across the small table to where your hands were still warming on the mug. He aimlessly ran his fingers along your knuckles and the backs of your hands. "I'm glad you came," 

"Me too. Despite the potato," 

"You said you liked my fancy potato puree," 

"That's what you're callin' it?" you laughed. He smiled and nodded. "I'm glad I came too." 

Van walked you to your car and the hug goodbye lasted a little longer than justified by the word 'friendship.' He stood on the sidewalk and watched you drive away before going back inside. You listened to The Ride on the way home, trying to get to know him more. The smooth voice of Van singing wasn't like him in real life. Chalk and cheese. You liked the duality of him. 

When you got home you checked your phone, knowing better than to do it while driving. There was a message from Van. You'd left your plate at his, he said. It was your good cake serving one that your mum got you when you first moved out of home. You told him to look after it for you. 'guess ya just have to come over soon' he sent. A second message came through a second later. It was a winking emoticon. You made a mental note to teach him about emojis. Another message, then, 'larrysnotinvited#' You smiled to yourself and left Van without a reply.


End file.
